


The Light of Day

by allonsys_girl



Series: The Light of Day [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Declarations Of Love, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Possessive Sherlock, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Sherlock-centric, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsys_girl/pseuds/allonsys_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Work in progress.</p><p>I just can't stop trying to fix this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Florence and the Machine song No Light No Light, which reminds me SO MUCH of John and Sherlock.
> 
> "No Light, No Light"
> 
> You are the hole in my head  
> You are the space in my bed  
> You are the silence in between what I thought  
> And what I said
> 
> You are the night time fear  
> You are the morning when it's clear  
> When it's over you'll start  
> You're my head  
> You're my heart
> 
> No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
> I never knew daylight could be so violent  
> A revelation in the light of day  
> You can't choose what stays and what fades away
> 
> And I'd do anything to make you stay  
> No light, no light  
> No light  
> Tell me what you want me to say
> 
> Through the crowd, I was crying out  
> And in your place there were a thousand other faces  
> I was disappearing in plain sight  
> Heaven help me, I need to make it right
> 
> You want a revelation,  
> You wanna get it right  
> But, it's a conversation,  
> I just can't have tonight  
> You want a revelation  
> Some kind of resolution  
> You want a revelation
> 
> No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
> I never knew daylight could be so violent  
> A revelation in the light of day,  
> You can't choose what stays and what fades away
> 
> And I'd do anything to make you stay  
> No light, no light  
> No light  
> Tell me what you want me to say
> 
> Would you leave me,  
> If I told you what I've done?  
> And would you need me,  
> If I told you what I've become?  
> 'cause it's so easy,  
> To say it to a crowd  
> But it's so hard, my love,  
> To say it to you out loud
> 
> No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
> I never knew daylight could be so violent  
> A revelation in the light of day,  
> You can't choose what stays and what fades away
> 
> And I'd do anything to make you stay  
> No light, no light  
> No light  
> Tell me what you want me to say
> 
> You want a revelation,  
> You wanna get it right  
> But, it's a conversation,  
> I just can't have tonight  
> You want a revelation  
> Some kind of resolution  
> You want a revelation
> 
> You want a revelation,  
> You wanna get it right  
> But, it's a conversation,  
> I just can't have tonight  
> You want a revelation, some kind of resolution  
> Tell me what you want me to say.

He catches up with me at the end of the walk. He’s running. He’s been calling my name, and I’ve been pretending I can’t hear him. 

“Sherlock!” He’s heaving for breath, swallowing hard. “Where the hell are you going? The reception’s not even half over.”

“I just have to go. Apologise to Mary for me.” I’m desperately trying to hang on to some level of dignity.

“What? I don’t...I don’t understand.” He’s still catching his breath, hands on his hips. He’s silhouetted against the lights from the hall. “You’re the best man.”

“I certainly am. And I believe I’ve played the part quite satisfactorily, have I not?” Damn myself. I sound ice cold. I don’t mean to. 

His head retracts like I’ve slapped him. “Played the part? What the bloody hell does THAT mean?”

“It means...it means, I’ve done everything you and Mary asked of me, and more. And now, all I ask of you is that you let me leave.” I pause, trying to calm the emotions inside me that are rising like a tide. “Please.”

“Sherlock, what is wrong? One minute we were all smiling and laughing and you were telling me Mary was pregnant, and now you’re running away from me like you can’t get far enough. I just don’t understand.”

It’s pitch black. There’s no light at this end of the walk. The light posts ended about 10 yards behind us. I can’t really see his face, just the outline, which makes this marginally less wrenchingly painful. At least I don’t have to look into those searching blue eyes, those eyes that make my stomach flip and my skin tingle. 

“What do you want me to say, John?”

“I don’t know. The truth.”

“I don’t know if I can. I wish you would just let me leave.” I can’t help the note of pleading that enters my voice. Damn him. He’s the only person that can make me act like such a fool.

“I just want you to stay. What can I do to make you stay? Please. Don’t leave my wedding reception early. You’re my best friend.” Now he sounds pleading, too. I hate being unkind to him, or having him think I’m being unkind. I feel like I’m going to be sick from the effort of remaining calm.

“I know that, John. And if you are mine, I beg of you, let.me.leave. Go back and dance with your wife.” I turn away from him and start walking again. I cannot do this to him. Not tonight. 

But he grabs my sleeve. “Sherlock. You are not leaving. Not until you tell me what the HELL is going on here. I want the truth.” 

He’s pointing at me, and though I can’t see his face, I know exactly what it looks like right now. It’s all squared jaw and pressed together lips, channeling his anger into breathing through his nose. That face of which I have memorized every scar, every wrinkle, every unreasonably long eyelash. That face which swam before my eyes every day for two years whilst I was gone. 

“I don’t think you do, John. Especially not tonight.”

“Well, I say I do. And we’re going to stand here, in the fucking dark, and the cold, until you tell me. You’ve done enough leaving of me for a lifetime, I think.”

That hurts like he punched me in the stomach. Will he never stop being angry with me? 

“Alright, John.” My voice sounds as weary as I feel. Weary of the charade, of playing the friend, the cheerful, helpful best man. And if he won’t let me leave, he’s going to hear it all. “You want these revelations? You’ll get them. And you won’t like it.”

I see him cross his arms over his chest. Bracing himself for whatever’s coming. Brace yourself, John.

I press my hands up to my mouth and take a deep breath. If you’re going to say it, Sherlock, just say it. “John. I am not your best friend.”

He recoils. “Well, fuck you.”

“Please let me finish. This is not easy for me.” My voice is shaking now. Thank god I can’t see his face clearly. Thank god for the dark. 

He falls silent, waiting. I can feel him seething with anger. 

“I’m not your best friend, because…” I feel physically unable to say this. My jaw muscles working to make my mouth form the words. “Because I am in love with you. Because I can’t BEAR that you married someone tonight, and left me. Because having to stand at your side while that happened caused me physical pain. Because I can’t stand to even look at your empty chair in the sitting room at home, reminding me of your absence. Because since we met, we’ve fit together so perfectly that I never expected we would ever be apart. I am the head, you are the heart. Remember? Because the thought of you, being here, and us being together again, was all that sustained me while I was gone, and when I came back...you weren’t mine anymore. Because I’ve lost you. And I hate both of us for it. I hate you for leaving me. And I hate myself for letting it happen. And no best friend would feel that way.”

I’m heaving. I can hardly believe I just said all that. I can’t get a breathe. Starting to feel faint. I bend over and put my hands on my knees. 

John is stock still. 

It’s hours, it’s days that we’re standing there. Me heaving into my scarf, feeling sick and frightened, John like a statue. I can’t even tell if he’s looking at me. 

Finally, he clears his throat. “Do you remember, Sherlock...Do you remember the night we went to the art museum, and you told me how beautiful the stars were?”

“Yes.” I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“I remember it. I remember it like it happened yesterday. I can see the streetlights and the sky, and I can hear your voice, and I can remember exactly what the air smelled like.” He stops, clears his throat again.

“Yes.”

“Do you know why I remember that one moment in such detail?” 

“No.”

“Because.” I can hear his lower teeth scraping his upper lip, the way he does when he’s battling himself. “Because that was the moment that I realized I...loved you...as much more than a friend.”

“Oh.” 

“And now, after everything that’s happened. Everything you put me through.” He’s breathing hard now, and I brace myself slightly, afraid he’s going to finally punch me. I know he’s wearing that murderous smile he gets only when he’s properly furious. “After YOU left ME. YOU LEFT ME, Sherlock. Not the other way round. You’re going to stand here, on my wedding night, with my PREGNANT wife in there, and tell me these things. You.left.me. I would have...I would have stayed with you forever. But you left me alone, and what was I supposed to do?” 

He’s breathing so hard that every word is cut off by a sharp inhalation at the end. 

“I had no choice, John. I truly didn’t. It was leave you or allow you to be killed. You must believe me. I would never have left you otherwise.”

He sighs. “You fuck. You utter SHIT. What the FUCK am I going to do with you?” His voice has changed. He sounds less angry, more...amused? There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck am I going to do about her?” 

And then suddenly he’s on me, all hands and teeth and lips, pushing me up against the tree behind us, his cold, trembling body pressed against mine. I’m so stunned, my hands fly out to the sides and I’m frozen.

“Are you going to kiss me back, or what, you arsehole?” He sounds like he’s laughing, his lips still against mine as he speaks. 

“John. I…” I’m trying to gather myself, figure out what to say. 

“Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up.” Then his warm lips are grasping mine between them, his hands on the sides of my face, and it’s nothing I expected and everything I wanted. 

“How...else...am...I...supposed...to...react...to...that..” John’s kissing down my neck and it’s the most incredible feeling I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been kissed, had sex, even though most people think I haven’t. But I’ve never been kissed like this, like someone wants to consume me, tuck me away inside them, never let me go. It’s intoxicating.

“I thought when I came home...I would tell you. I would finally tell you. And then, it was all wrong, you were with her, and so angry at me, and I tried, I tried so hard, John…to just, be your friend...” My voice is breaking. It’s too much. The pent up emotion, the feeling of John moving against me, his hands in my hair. I feel like crying.

“Stop talking now. Christ, you never know when to shut up.” The affection in his voice is so plain, it hurts my heart. He’s my John again, in that moment, he’s become mine again. 

He’s working open the buttons on my coat, slithering his arms around my waist. I finally let myself give in completely, shut off my brain. It’s remarkably similar to drugs. If I just submit to the feeling of it, my mind floats away on its own. My head falls forward, sinking my mouth to John’s. He moans deeply, skims his hands up my back to grip my shoulders. I wrap my coat around his back - he’s freezing - and he presses even closer to me. It’s the most intense kiss I’ve ever felt in my life. I’d do anything to stay like this forever. His mouth is so sure, so possessive. He’s not got an ounce of hesitation about this, and every press of his lips to mine tells me so. We’re still wrapped together like that, tongues twisting together, every emotion we’ve both been holding back for all these years pouring out into each other, when I hear voices coming towards us. 

John hears it a split second after I do. He jumps backward and spins around to look toward the hall. There are people walking down the path. It’s Lestrade and Molly’s boyfriend...whatever his name is. They can’t possibly see us, it’s far too dark. 

John takes my hand, the feeling beautifully familiar and strangely new at the same time. He pulls me behind the tree, off the path. Presses his finger to my lips. 

“Where the hell did they go? There’s no where to go.” I hear Lestrade muttering. “Ah, well, I guess I can just ring them. My phone’s in my coat, back in the hall. Let’s go.”

They start retreating. John’s mouth is on mine again, insistent, pushing his tongue in, his fingers digging into the back of my neck. We stand there and kiss for a moment longer, his fingers in my hair, his thumbs rubbing over my cheekbones. I don't ever want to leave this moment. But eventually, much too soon, he pulls back, lips still lightly against my mouth, “We have to go back.”  


“Yes.” I won’t leave him now. We’ll get through this together, now that I know there is still a “we”.

He nudges his nose against mine. I can feel those absurdly long lashes against my cheeks. “This isn’t over, Sherlock. We’ll get through this night, and we’ll sort it out in the light of day. Your timing is AWFUL, you know. At my fucking wedding, Sherlock. Really.”

That makes me laugh. He laughs, too, and I nip his lips with mine. “It really is. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to be messy, and weird, and ugly. It’s probably going to get really fucked up. You know that.” His face is in my neck now, lips under my jaw, his breathe moist and smelling like champagne. I want nothing more than to stand here all night like this, to never let him even an inch away from me again.

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, too. We’re two bloody idiots. But it’s done now. And we’ll figure it out.” He ruffles my hair. “But we can’t snog at the reception. Might put people off.”

Then we’re both laughing, and for the first time since I’ve been back, I feel normal. All I needed was John. That’s all I’ve ever needed.


	2. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of the messiness of the revelations starts to be seen. Sherlock is very angsty.

We walk into the reception hall, and I feel like the world is so much brighter than it was thirty minutes ago. John loves me. John kissed me. I wasn’t wrong. I am never wrong.

“Get that shit eating grin off your face.” John says to me out of the side of his mouth. But his eyes are mischievous and happy, and looking into them sends a thrill pulsing through my stomach. He has never looked at me like that before.

And then Mary is upon us. “There are my boys! Where have you two naughties been?” She’s smiling broadly, but there’s suspicion in her eyes. I remind myself she’s a liar. She’s good at pretending. And she’s had parts of John I haven’t yet. She’s had his warm heavy body laying next to hers while they sleep. She’s had...I can’t even let myself think about it. A knot of jealousy settles in my throat, effectively dulling all my happy sensations of a few minutes previous.

John leans in to kiss her, as I know he must, but that knot of jealousy turns into something that’s choking me. John’s lips were on mine five minutes ago. They’re mine. Mine before they were yours, long before.

“Sherlock, are you alright? You look like you’re about to be sick.” Mary’s voice has gone very motherly, and she lays a hand on my arm. I have to work very hard not to flinch.

“I’m fine, thank you. Too much champagne. I’m just going to go talk to...uh...to Molly.” I see Molly at the other end of the room, and determined to get as far away from Mary as possible, I start to walk away. I feel John’s fingers brush my hand as I go, and it takes my emotions down a bit. Just that. Just his fingers on my palm. He’s always done that for me, centered me. I can be raging, screaming, panicking, my thoughts too large for my body to contain, then John just looks at me, and the dependable reassurance I find in those big dark blue eyes just immediately calms the storm.

I spend the rest of the reception avoiding Mary. John and I keep locking eyes from various points in the room. He smiles at me, I wink. He lifts an eyebrow at me, I bite my lip at him, then he guffaws at me and points his finger threateningly. It’s blatant flirting, and no else seems to notice. Perhaps we’ve always been this obvious, I don’t know.

“Where on earth did you two disappear to earlier tonight?” Greg is at my elbow, shovelling some kind of greasy hor d'oeuvre in his mouth. “You were gone for 40 minutes.”

“John required some air. He needed a break. As the best man, I took it upon myself to accompany him.” That sounded false even as I was saying it, but Greg is fairly stupid. He’ll buy it.

“Huh. Well, got to be heading out. Got a shift tomorrow morning, you know.” He puts his used plate on the table, pats my shoulder, and walks away. He didn’t buy it.

Gradually, the halls begins to empty. People I don’t know drift over to me and shake my hand, tell me my speech was lovely, sweet. It’s extremely hard for me to even look at them. It’s all irrelevant. It doesn't _matter_. All I can think about is John, and what will happen when this is over.

Presumably, he’ll leave with Mary. No. Not presumably. Of course, he’ll leave with Mary. They just got married. It's absurd. Because what happened between me and John is just so much more important. It’s earth shattering. I can’t believe that everyone is just acting normal around us, that the world is just continuing.

That Mary and John are still married. They're still married when everything is different. 

The reception is ending. I realise the only people in the room are Mary and John, myself, Mrs. Hudson, and that ridiculous maid of honour, Janine. Here’s John, striding toward me, holding Mary’s hand, a broad grin across his face. It doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Right, then. Well, Janine, you’re going to ride Mrs. Hudson home?” She nods. “Ta. And, um, Mary, you’ll take your car and head back to the house?”

She nods, but slowly, the smile on her face slipping marginally. She knows something is off. "Don't be too late, John. It _is_ our wedding night."

“And I’ll ride Sherlock back home - I mean, to Baker Street - and then I’ll be home.” He kisses her deeply, and I actually have to turn away.

***

John slides in the driver’s side of the car - _his_ car. I have to constantly remind myself of all the things about John that have changed in the two years I’ve been gone. He puts the keys in the ignition, but doesn’t turn it on. He swings his head around a few times, looking out all the windows.

I’m not sure what I should be doing. Or what he wants me to do. Or why I’m even in this car. I could easily have taken a cab or the tube. I have no idea how to navigate this, this new _us_.

“Okay. Coast is clear.” He looks at me with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. “Oh god, come here.”

He pulls me to him by the back of my head, his mouth already open the moment our lips touch, his tongue immediately in my mouth. He’s been thinking about kissing me all night. I can feel it, in every microscopic contraction of his lips, every slide of his tongue against mine, how desperately he’s been waiting for this moment for hours. It's electric, its desperate. So different from the kiss earlier. That kiss was warm and familiar and soft. It was our reunification.

 _This_. This is lightening. I’m being electrocuted by him. And it is exquisite.

Finally, after what seems like infinity, or maybe only a few seconds, John’s head drops back. He’s panting. “Oh, god, oh god, Sherlock. That’s...bloody brilliant.”

Then he pounds his head back on the seat, closes his eyes. “Christ. I’m a terrible person. I’ve been married for less than a day. I’m leaving my fucking wedding reception. And I’m already cheating. And it doesn’t even feel like cheating. It’s feels. It feels...right. It feels so bloody right.”

“I know. It IS right, John. Because it’s us.” It’s so simple to me.

“I just wish...Oh, fuck, you’ve always had horrible timing. Why should this be any different?” He dives his face into my neck, and it’s lightening again. It’s currents of raw energy coming directly from John’s mouth and schisming all over my body. His hand is on my stomach, his hand is in my hair, and everywhere he touches _burns_.

“Okay, okay...we gotta...stop. I have to get you back home, and then I have to go be with Mary. I’m so sorry, but I do.” He leans his head back on the seat and looks at me, his index finger tracing my mouth.

I’ve never thought much about whether John is objectively handsome. I suppose he is, since women always seem interested in him. But I don’t care if other people like him. In fact, I prefer that they don’t. I just like how he looks. I like how square his jaw is, how strong. I like how his nose swoops up at the end. I like his eyes. They’re so clear and sure. He’s never confused or unsure of himself, never muddled, the way I get sometimes. I like his eyelashes, which are preposterously long and blonde. I like how expressive he is. John has no such thing as a poker face. I could look at his face for hours.

“John?” He said we have to stop kissing, but he’s not making a move to start the car, either. So, I may as well ask.

“Yeah?” His voice is husky and tired sounding, but content.

“Why didn’t you ever say? Before, I mean. Before I...left. If you felt this way.” I’m not usually so inelegant with my words, but John’s finger on my mouth is extremely distracting.

“I didn’t know. Not until you were gone. Well, right before, I guess. When I saw you, standing on that roof...and I realised that I couldn’t stand the thought of the world without you in it.” He leans in, presses his lips against mine so tenderly. “And then, when you were gone, all I did was remember. Remember us. How we were, what we were. And I knew then that what everyone always thought was true. We _were_ a couple, whatever we'd said about it. I realised I’d missed out, on the best thing in my life.”

He pauses. Looks up at me from under his eyelids with a half smile, a look that makes my breath catch and I suddenly have to shift in my seat, bolts of fire shooting down my spine. I know what I would do to him if anyone else gave me that look, but this is John, and I feel like the rules are different.

He’s still playing with my mouth. “And then, I just buried it - you. I knew you weren’t coming back, and that was that. I left Baker Street. I couldn’t even stand to look at Mrs. Hudson, or anything that reminded me of home, and you. I couldn’t tell anyone, talk to anyone. It was too...private, and made it too real. So, then I met Mary. And she was lovely, and nice, and it seemed to be the closest I would ever get to being happy again without you.”

Then he’s kissing me again, all liquid heat and swirls of electricity in my stomach.

“And then, there you were.” His voice is breathy, his lips against my cheek, and he’s moved closer to me, arms around my back. "I  _hated_ you at first. I had Mary. And there was, nothing to do about it. It was too late. It was just too goddamn late to tell you."

He’s still talking when he starts kissing me again. It’s so heated, I can barely breathe. His mouth is on my jaw, then my earlobe, hot and gorgeous, moving down my throat, his tongue pushing into my skin, his teeth scraping against me. Finally, I have to push him away. We’re both breathless, and my skin is on fire. Every scrape of his stubbly jaw across my face is raw and burning.

“John. If you are going back to Mary tonight, let’s please stop this.” I can’t bear to let him go, but this is like purgatory.

He nods and swallows. “You’re right. Look at us. Two middle aged men getting off in the front seat of a car in a parking lot. This is right pathetic, it is.”

“Or really hot.” We catch each other’s eye, and suddenly we’re laughing riotously. It feels like before, before everything broke and was wrong. When we were so in sync with each other that being together felt as easy as breathing.

“Alright.” John turns the key in the ignition finally. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll figure it all out in the light of day.”

The ride to Baker Street is quiet. John’s hand lays on the back of my neck most of the time, thumb rubbing in my hairline. When he pulls up out front, the aching for him to come in with me, to pound our feet up the steps in sync with each other, light the fire, and just sit in our chairs together...it’s a physical pain in my chest. I’m mute. Not even able to speak though the pain of it.

“I know. We’ll sort it out, I promise.” John leans over to me, eyes half closed, and kisses me long and deep. My body just sinks toward him instinctively. I can’t help it. “I’m so glad this happened, Sherlock. What would have happened if I had let you go tonight?”

I can’t answer. I’m too...overwhelmed, sad, joyful...something. I can’t even name it.

He kisses me one more time, chaste and soft. “I’ll text you, okay?”

I nod against his mouth, and get out of the car before I can no longer make myself do so. Once I’m inside the hall, I let out the shuddering breath that’s been threatening for so many minutes, and allow myself to just slide down the wall. Now that all these emotions are unleashed, I’ve no idea how to handle them. I’m filled with terror at the idea John might not choose me. the next moment, I’m ebullient, thinking of the things he said and the feeling of our mouths moving against each other. I’m simultaneously convinced he’s coming home tomorrow, and sure he’s never leaving Mary. I’m all muddled. I need John here to help me clear it up, and he’s with her.

I sit there for god only knows how long when my phone buzzes.

I miss you. JW

A bubble of happiness forms in my chest. Starts to spread out, take over the other bad, frightening emotions. It’s always John. He always puts me right.

I miss you, too. I wish you were home. SH

Where are you? Are you sitting by the fire? JW

Never made it upstairs. Sitting on the hallway floor. SH

Sherlock, go upstairs. JW

No. SH

LOL, why not? JW

Because you’re not there. SH

I wasn’t there before, either. JW

Now it’s different. SH

So, you’re living in the hallway now. JW

Yes. SH

You’re killing me. I’m going to wake Mary with all my laughing. JW

Maybe you shouldn’t be texting me with your wife next to you. SH

Arse. JW

You like me this way. SH

I do. God help me, I do. JW

Want to come home and like me more? SH

Are you flirting with me? JW

Is it working? SH

God, yes. JW

Good. Meant it to. SH

I’ve got to go to sleep. Got an early flight tomorrow. JW

Sherlock? JW

Don’t be mad. I can’t not go on my honeymoon. JW

Sex holiday, you mean. SH

Please don’t be like that. I can’t cancel my honeymoon. I promise we’ll fix this. I promise. I love you. JW

I said I love you. That’s when you say it back. JW

Sherlock. Don’t be a dick now. JW

I love you. You’ll text me while you’re gone. That’s not a request. SH

I’ll text you while I’m gone. You prick. JW

Goodnight John. SH

Goodnight Sherlock. Don’t sleep in the hallway. You’ll scare Mrs. H to death. JW

I drag myself upstairs, pour a glass of brandy, and light the fire. I sit in John’s chair. Because it smells like him. And all I can think of is how he’s curled in bed next to someone who isn’t me.


	3. Dark Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in a dark place, John is trying to reach out.

Chapter 3

The next morning it’s raining. I slept in John’s chair all night, simply because I couldn’t bring myself to sleep anywhere that didn’t smell like him. And it’s the only thing left in 221B that does. My mood is foul and dark when I wake. I’m cramped and sore, and my mind is jittery.

I stand at the window watching the rain pour down the glass. 

John in Mary’s bed. John’s fingers in my hair, his tongue on my Adam’s apple. John promising her he’ll stay with her forever. John telling me he would have stayed with me forever. John’s blue eyes, soft and calm, inches from mine. John’s eyes opening this morning, next to Mary. Far from me. My mind is ricocheting wildly from venomous jealousy to expectant joy. John is not here to calm me. My hands are shaking. 

I need my violin. 

I set bow to strings, and my mind goes. It just goes. Not blank. Just...away. 

I’ve no idea how long I stand there. Until I’ve ripped open a few calluses, and there’s blood on the bow. Until my knees are locked and tight. Until the tendons in my neck feel like overstretched elastics. Finally, I set it carefully back in it’s case, and retreat to John’s chair, curl myself in the tightest ball I can, and allow myself to cry. 

I fall asleep again. When I wake, it’s evening. I’ve nothing to drink all day. I don’t need food, but I do need something to drink. I feel wrung out. 

My phone is on the kitchen counter, blinking.

As I’m downing a tumbler of water, I press the screen on. It’s John, John everywhere, practically screaming at me from the screen. 

 

Morning. Couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. Dreamt about you. JW

Delayed flight. Mary’s in a strop. I’m drinking at the airport pub. At 8:00am. JW

You’ve nothing to say about that? Come on. You’ve got to have a good crack about that. JW

Are you ignoring me? JW

Oi. Sherlock. JW

Okay, well, we’re getting on the plane now. Must shut the phone down for a bit. I love you. JW

Settled in the hotel. Was hoping you’d have texted me back by now. I miss you. Have a knot in my stomach. Now feel like I’m cheating on you with Mary. How fucked up is that? Can’t win. JW

I’m trying to be funny. JW

Are you angry with me? JW

Promise I won’t mention Mary again if you just respond. Please. I’m about to ask Greg to break in to Baker Street and make sure you’re conscious. JW

Okay, called Mrs. Hudson. She popped up whilst you were playing your violin. Said you didn’t even notice her. Should I be worried here? JW

Sherlock. I promise you we will be together. I just have to be fair to Mary. And this baby. But I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m just trying to figure out what to do. Please answer me. JW

 

Shit. I didn’t even mean to upset him. I DO mean to upset him plenty, and I’m good at it. But this was unintentional. I’m going to do this to him all the time. Because I’m just not good at being with other people. I get so lost in my own mind. 

 

Didn’t mean to upset you. Just a bit lost today. SH

Thank Christ. Are you alright? JW

Yes. SH

Say you love me. JW

I love you. SH

Say it again. JW

I love you. SH

I love you. I miss you. Why are you lost? JW

You. Not here. SH

It takes him a long minute to respond to that one. 

 

I’m so sorry, Sherlock. This is a real fucking mess, isn’t it? JW

Yes, it is. SH

 

I don’t say all the other things. That I’m difficult, and unpleasant, and I’ll hurt him, and that I’m viscerally terrified that he’ll change his mind and choose her. That if that happens, I’ll just not be Sherlock anymore, because I’ve only been hanging on by the thinnest of threads since I came back, and it’s only with him beside me that I feel right, and now that we’ve done this, chosen this, said these things, I can’t possibly go back, I just wouldn’t be me without him. 

I don’t say those things. Because John is on his honeymoon. And it’s not fair. And I’ve already unintentionally hurt him today. 

 

I have to go to dinner now. I will text you later. I know you’ll be up. Please answer me, okay? JW

Okay. SH

Say you love me. JW

I love you. SH

Okay. I love you too. Talk to you soon. JW

 

I retreat to his chair again. This is a dark place I’m in right now. Haven’t been in a place this dark in years. Need John to help me. But John’s not here. Need to smoke. Yes. Very much need to smoke. I pull out the slipper where I’ve hidden my emergency stash, and just start methodically smoking it. I’m on cigarette 17 when my phone buzzes. 

 

Hi. Back from dinner. Are you still okay? JW

Yes. Smoking. SH

Oh, Sherlock. Then you’re not okay. JW

No. I’m not. SH

I’m ringing Mycroft. JW

NO. Do not ring Mycroft. I’ll stop smoking. SH

No you won’t. JW

No. I won’t. Don’t ring Mycroft. I just miss you. I want you home. Here. At home with me. SH

I know. Me too. It will happen, I promise you. Just give me time. JW

You’re going to change your mind. SH

No, I am not. I’m sitting in a fucking loo on my fucking honeymoon so I can text you. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. JW

Don’t change your mind. SH

I won’t. JW

Go get some sleep. Stop smoking. I will be home before you know it. We’ll text every day. Okay? JW

Okay. I want to kiss you again. SH

I want to do much more than that. JW

Are you flirting with me? SH

Yes. Is it working? JW

No. SH

Liar. JW

Goodnight John. SH

Goodnight. I’ll text you first thing. JW

 

I can’t sleep another night in the chair. I stretch out on my bed, my phone in the center of my chest, warm and heavy, text messages still glowing, like a proxy for John. Tears are pricking at my eyes again. I haven’t cried this much in 30 years. Only John could do this to me. 

The next week is going to be hell.


	4. Falling Apart, and Coming Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't doing well without John.

The next days pass much the same. Life has stopped until John gets back. I never let my phone out of my grip after I accidentally ignored him that first day. I don’t want to make any mistakes, do anything that might drive him to change his mind. I know I’m not being rational. I don’t eat. At all. I usually eat at least a few times a week. Now, nothing. I can’t. I want to feel empty. All I want is John. 

Mrs. Hudson pops in on an increasingly annoyingly constant basis. Leaves food on the kitchen counter, takes away the food she left the day before that didn’t get eaten.

“You’re pining, dear.” She says to me one morning, putting me in my chair, from where I’d been sleeping on the floor in front of the fire. 

“What?” I’m so through with her, I don’t even make an attempt to hide the exasperation in my voice. John would be disappointed with me. 

“You’re pining.” She looks at me in such a way that I’m sure she knows exactly what is happening between us. “But he’s married now. He moved on. You have to let him go, dear.”

I bite back the vicious response that’s already in my mouth. “Mrs. Hudson. You know nothing.”

“Oh, I know a bit more than you think I do, dear.” She starts prattling on, and I just can’t. I can’t even listen to her. 

My phone is buzzing in my hand. It’s like the press of the needle in the vein. Relief.

2 more days. JW

And then what? SH

Then, I’m coming to Baker Street. And I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe. JW

And then? SH

I’m still figuring it out. I know that’s not what you want me to say. JW

You still love her. SH

Not the way I did before. No, not like before. But the baby, Sherlock. JW

I hate it. SH

Don’t say that. You don’t mean it. JW

No, I don’t mean it. It’s part of you. I could never hate anything that was part of you. Please come home. I’m lost. SH

I’ll find you. When I get home. I’ll find you. I always do. JW

 

“Who are you talking to, dear?” 

Mrs. Hudson is still here. Why is she still here? “Mrs. Hudson, please go away.”

She huffs and waves her hand backwards at me as she retreats. I don’t care. Talking to John. 

 

Are you going to live here again? SH

YES. I’ve told you, yes. I just need to find the right time, and the right way. JW

You’re pretending with her. It’s real with me. SH

It’s always been you, okay? But you were dead. And now it’s complicated. But it’s always.been.you. Stop being a prat. JW

I’m not being a prat. I’m telling you the truth. SH

I have to go. Say you love me. JW

I love you. Come home. SH

I love you, too. I’ll be there before you know it. JW

 

He keeps saying that. But he doesn’t know how time has slowed, how every minute without him here is like days. How I am up for 36 hours straight because I don’t want to miss a text, and that time goes so excruciatingly slowly, because I can’t go away. Can’t let my mind go away. Because I have to be holding that phone. Waiting for him. 

Kissing in the car seems like a dream now. I’ve completely fallen in on myself without him here. All the dark feelings that make me smoke and not eat and want drugs and test my own mortality all the time...they’re all here at once. Why would John ever choose this? He’s got no reason to want this. 

 

John, come home early. I need you. SH

What’s wrong? Are you alright? JW

No. Decidedly not. Need you. SH

Sod this. Ok, I’m coming home. I’ll be there ASAP. JW

Door’s unlocked. SH

Well, not in 5 minutes. But tonight. God knows what I’ll tell Mary. JW

I don’t care. SH

I know you don’t. JW

I love you. SH

I love you. Fucking hell, but you’re difficult. JW

I know. SH

Am I going to want to punch you when I see you? JW

Yes. SH

You dick. I’m going now. JW

 

Two hours later. I haven’t moved. I only know what time it is from looking at my phone as it lights up.

 

I’m in the airport. Mary refused to leave early. I told her you needed me home. She asked why. God help me, I just told her the truth. She was much less pissed off than I expected. Home in 2 hours. JW

 

I don’t respond. I’m too flooded with relief. I just lay my head back on the hearth rug and let myself sleep for the first time in 3 days. 

***

“Sherlock! What the fuck? Christ.” I hear John’s voice as if he’s very far away. Then I feel sturdy, sure doctor’s hands slide under my armpits, and he’s hauling me across the sitting room, and putting me on the sofa. 

He covers me with his coat, and I feel the cushion dip as he sits next to me. “Christ, when was the last time you ate? You must have lost 10 pounds in the last 6 days. You’re like a skeleton.” 

I feel him get up. I still haven’t opened my eyes. Hear him bustling in the kitchen. Then he’s sitting me up. “You have to fucking eat, Sherlock. God, I do want to punch you. Except you’re too damned weak and sick right now. You just wait until you’re better.”

Then he’s spooning something in my mouth and shoving a warm mug in my hands. I hadn’t realized how cold I was. That’s all we do for a while. He puts some kind of squishy, tasteless food in my mouth, and I take sips of tea. 

“What am I eating?” I finally am able to talk, though my voice is rusty and uneven from not talking much for days. 

“Custard. It was the only thing in the fridge that wasn’t green and mouldy.” I open my eyes and look at John. He’s tanned and his hair is 6 shades blonder than when he left. His eyes are wide and worried, his hand over is mouth. “Jesus, Sherlock. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me how bad you were?”

I try to talk through a mouthful of custard. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Because coming home to this was better.” He shakes his head, rubs both hands over his face hard. “You, laying on the fucking floor, the flat as cold as death...fuck, Sherlock. Anything would have been better than that.”

“I was just...lost. Without you. You know it’s happened before.” I feel tears threatening again. Goddamn him. 

John turns those reassuring eyes on me. He swoops in and kisses me hard and long, his hand resting against my face. His kiss is worried, relieved, angry. I can feel every emotion he’s feeling through the musculature of his lips. It’s miraculous. 

When he breaks away, he remains just centimeters from my face, and brings his other hand up to cradle my face. “And I will NOT let it happen again. Okay. We’re done with this, Sherlock. Understand? I’m coming home. Tonight. Mary knows. I told her. And she doesn’t want me home anyway. So, tonight it is. For good.”

“Now. Finish that custard. Slowly. And then you’re getting in bed.” He makes himself busy, stacking and lighting the fire, making himself a cup of tea. 

“And are you getting in bed, too?” I try to keep the hopefulness out of my voice, not to sound as pathetic to him as I must look right now.

He gives me that easy smile. “What do you think?”

A small bit of warmth pushes into my chest, the first since the night of the reception. I can’t keep the grin off my face. 

***

John slips out of his clothes, jeans dropping to the floor. He’s tan, and he’s got a little belly I don’t remember him having before. He sees me looking. 

“What?” But he’s smiling. 

“You. I just like how you look.” I shrug. 

“Good. I hate how you look right now. You look like shit.” He slides in beside me, in nothing but his pants. “This okay?”

“I would say if it wasn’t.” It’s more than okay. It’s the best thing I could imagine. 

He smiles, those expressive lips perfectly tilted up, beaming at me. I could truly watch his face for hours. “Come here. You need body heat. You’re practically hypothermic.”

And then his warm arms are around me, and his body is so hot, it’s like a radiator. My face is against his bare chest. And it should feel so much more foreign and new than it does. I curl my ice cold hands to his stomach, and he shudders and jumps. I move them away. 

“What are you doing? Put them back. It was a shock, that’s all.” Then his lips are touching my forehead. “I love you. Get closer. That’s it.”

I curl as close to him as I can get, and his hand starts rubbing up and down my spine. He tucks the blankets in around us. “That’s it. Lovely. Let’s go to sleep. Okay?”

“Okay. Don’t let me go. Please don’t let me go.” I turn my face into his chest.

“I did once. I won’t now.” He kisses my hair. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”


End file.
